


i'll come back when you call me

by rumpledlinen



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alcohol, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, New Year's Eve, POV Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3087176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledlinen/pseuds/rumpledlinen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's two drinks in when he gets the text.</p><p><i>Nick</i> 19:45</p><p>  <i>miss you!!!! it’s so pretty here</i></p><p>He’s attached a thousand party popper emojis and a picture of the water that’s got Nick’s finger in the corner. Harry smiles down at it, shaking his head. </p><p>“Nick?” Gemma guesses, sitting down next to him. She’s got tinsel in her hair, and when Harry lets his own drop on her shoulder some of it falls out. </p><p>He nods, feeling a little miserable and sorry for himself. “He’s having fun,” he says, holding out his phone. </p><p> </p><p>or: harry's pining for nick on new year's eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll come back when you call me

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS THE SILLIEST THING IN THE WORLD. okay. now that we've got that out of the way, a million thanks to [saralisse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/saralisse/pseuds/saralisse) for looking this over. also, for titling it. 
> 
> um. nick posted a lot of pictures on instagram this morning/last night, and i thought about harry getting jealous, and then i wrote this. it's disgustingly fluffy, for once.
> 
> warnings for alcohol use.
> 
> disclaimer: this isn't real.

“It’s gonna be ace, Haz,” Nick says with a wide grin as he’s throwing things into his suitcase. He’s tossing everything he can see, it looks like, sweaters and boots along with swim trunks and sandals. 

“You’re not gonna be able to shut that,” he says instead of responding directly to him, and he sits in the big fluffy chair Nick’s recently bought, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Where there’s a will there’s a way, Harold, didn’t your mum ever teach you that?” Nick asks, trying to zip it shut. It doesn’t work and he grumbles, sitting on top of it and barely managing it after a good couple minutes of struggling. “There!” he shouts, getting up with a flourish and bounding over to Harry, sitting on the edge of the chair and tossing his legs over him. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to come?” he asks, pouting.

Harry gives him a look. “I promised Mum and Gems I’d be with them this year,” he says. It’s because he’s already told them he won’t be spending his birthday there--Nick’s planning something, apparently, been planning for months. He shrugs, feeling a little silly. “Sorry.”

Nick groans. “Fireworks,” he says, shaking his head. “There’ll be fireworks on the beach with music and everyone I love. I want you to be there,” he says, wrapping his arms around him and situating himself so that his head is on Harry’s shoulder. 

He’s like a koala, Harry thinks. He tries not to be endeared by it. “Next year,” he promises, rubbing Nick’s back. He can do next year. “Twenty-two’s not a special year anywhere.”

“Excuse me,” Nick says, mouth open in mock offense. “I think the lyricist of your generation, Miss Swift, would disagree.” 

“Other than her song,” he agrees, long-suffering. 

Nick grins and kisses his cheek, just to the left of his mouth. He checks his phone and groans. “My flight’s in two hours.”

“You should get going, then,” Harry says, not moving an inch. 

Nick snorts. “And not you?”

He shakes his head, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Nah. Figured I’d stay here while you were gone. Throw a few parties that I won’t clean up.” He gives him a little smile. “You know. Living the real authentic popstar life.” 

Nick’s giving him that look again, the one that Harry always feels particularly nervous under, like he thinks Harry’s the most amusing person in the world but not in the way Harry wants. “You’re quite boring, you know that?” he says, but it doesn’t sound like an insult.

Harry’s not sure how to respond to that. He nods, getting up and jostling him off of his lap. “I know,” he says. He feels silly again, getting insulted over an offhanded comment like that, but Nick’s so _cool_ these days, and Harry’s just--Harry. Same as he’s always been, but less partying. “I’m actually pretty excited to spend New Year’s with them,” he murmurs, looking down at his shoes--well, Zayn’s shoes. He should give them back, he muses but they’re so comfortable. Only if he asks, then. 

Nick laughs, soft, and walks over to him, giving Harry a hug. He smells like his shampoo and Harry buries his face against his shoulder, feeling overwhelmed. “What’s this about?” he asks in a light, teasing voice. 

Harry shakes his head. 

Nick pulls away, looking at him. “Popstar,” he murmurs. “You know I’m only teasing you?”

“I know,” Harry says, more of a grumble than anything else. “I’m just gonna miss you. Won’t see you for ages.”

Nick raises an eyebrow. “This coming from the international popstar who travels ‘round the world nine months a year?” 

Harry waves a hand. “You’re usually doing your show then, aren’t you. Can hear you, at least.” He looks down at his feet. Somewhere, he can hear Pig barking at something. 

Nick tilts his head. “Harry,” he starts, but he cuts himself off, presses his lips together. “I’ll think of you every day,” he promises, and looks at his watch. “I’ve got to meet Daisy,” he murmurs, looking at Harry. “You’re all right?”

Harry nods, not saying anything. “I am.” 

“You aren’t,” Nick says, but he evidently _is_ running late because he leaves it at that, whistling for Pig and getting a lead on her as he walks Harry out of his house. “Happy New Year!” he calls after Harry.

Harry turns around and waves as he gets to his car. “Happy New Year!” he shouts back. “See you in a few weeks, Grim.” He gets into the driver’s seat and only waits a second before he drives away, turning up the music to drown out what an idiot he’s being. 

*

He’s two drinks in when he gets a text. 

_Nick_ 19:45

_miss you!!!! it’s so pretty here_

He’s attached a thousand party popper emojis and a picture of the water that’s got Nick’s finger in the corner. Harry smiles down at it, shaking his head. 

“Nick?” Gemma guesses, sitting down next to him. She’s got tinsel in her hair, and when Harry lets his own drop on her shoulder some of it falls out. 

He nods, feeling a little miserable and sorry for himself. “He’s having fun,” he says, holding out his phone. 

She nods, pursing her lips as she looks at it. “Misses you,” she murmurs. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Wanted me to go with him.”

“Did you want to?”

He shrugs. 

She snorts. “Would’ve been an excuse to get another kiss,” she says, giving Harry his phone back. 

He groans. He both loves and hates drunk, affectionate Nick; he always gets kisses but so does everyone else. “But I want a _real_ kiss,” he moans, flopping over onto her lap.

He can feel her laughter as she rubs his back. “I know, H.”

“This is awfully inconvenient,” he mumbles against her leg. “I don’t like being in love. D’you think I can turn it off?”

She pulls him up and gives him a cuddle, kissing his cheek and still rubbing his back. “Afraid not. You’re stuck like this.” 

He wrinkles his nose. 

“Talk to him,” she says in a singsong, because his sister may be incredible but she’s a romantic at heart. 

Harry gives her a look. “He’s my friend.”

“And he falls in and out of love at the drop of a hat,” she tells him, rolling her eyes. “Chances are if you tell him and he doesn’t feel the same, it’ll be okay. He’ll go on about how pretty he is and try to set you up with someone more suitable.”

Harry wriggles out of her grip, sitting on the other side of the couch and finishing his drink. “Want another,” he says, waving his empty cup at her. 

She grabs it from him. “Nope. I’m cutting you off.” 

“I’ve only had two!” he protests. 

“Then you’re an awfully melancholic sober person, and I still don’t want to hear it,” she says, still keeping hold of the cup. “You can have water.” She’s got her hands on her hips, staring him down. 

His phone chimes with another message, also from Nick. It’s a selfie this time, of him and a guy Harry vaguely recognizes but not enough to name. He shows it to her, grimacing. “Gems.” 

She shakes her head. “You’re nearly twenty-one!” she calls as she heads back into the kitchen. “Until you can handle your liquor, you’re not getting any more from me! You booze, you lose, yeah?”

He sits back down and thumbs the message screen open again, taking a picture of the candles and sweets his mum’s set out. He sends it without a caption, rubbing his hands over his face. 

*

Nick keeps sending him pictures throughout the night, and by the time it’s an hour till midnight where Nick is he’s snuck three more drinks, all half-finished. His mum and Gems keep him entertained, but he makes sure he’s always got his phone on him, doesn’t want to miss anything.

At five minutes til nine, he sends out his Happy New Year tweet. Maybe Nick’ll see it, he supposes as he hits send. Maybe he won’t. 

In case he doesn’t, he sends a text as well.

 _Harry_ 20:57

_happy new year, nick. hope you’re having a great time. looks like you are. start as you mean to go on, yeah?_

Gemma raises her eyebrows at him when she reads his tweet, but doesn’t comment. He hums and leans against her, smiling big. 

Nick doesn’t respond, but he keeps posting things on instagram. Harry doesn’t like them, but he stares at every one for a long time. 

When it hits midnight in his time, Nick sends him a text, short and simple. 

_Nick_ 00:01

_Happy 2015._

Harry falls asleep tipsy and pleased, phone mostly underneath his face. 

*

He wakes up just a bit hungover, and blinks blearily a few times before he manages to drag himself into the shower, leaning his head against the wall. He falls asleep there, and it’s not until Gemma bangs on the door, shouting about him stealing all the hot water, that he gets out. He makes himself a cup of coffee and brings it back upstairs, dropping his towel and climbing under his covers. 

He checks Nick’s insta when he feels more like a person, wanting to check if there are any more pictures.

There--well. There are. Two of him without a shirt, and one’s--Harry’s mouth goes a bit dry as he stares at it. One’s clearly Nick, in bed with some other guy, the same one Harry’d halfway recognized from the night before. 

He doesn’t like this, Nick waking up with people who aren’t him, he realizes. Or--he knew already, but this cements it. 

He stares at the picture for longer than he should, and without thinking he dials Nick’s number, heart racing. 

Nick picks up, groggy and irritated. “Who the fuck’s this?” 

“Harry,” he says, biting his lip and lying flat on his bed. There’s still a stain on the ceiling from when he’d been a teenager and had somehow gotten ink to explode. He stares at it. 

Nick groans. “What d’you want? Happy new year, eh. This is gonna cost a fortune,” he says around a yawn.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I want to kiss you.”

“What?” Nick asks, but he sounds a bit more alert. That’s a good sign, Harry thinks (though really, he’s more hoping than anything else). 

“Well,” Harry says, and he doesn’t quite know what to say but he’s trying. He should’ve waited to do this--but if he’d waited, he might’ve lost his nerve. He pushes on. “Thing is, I should’ve gone with you this year, only I knew that I would’ve kissed you and not wanted to _stop_ kissing you, and I thought that should be sometime other than the new year. Perhaps when all of your friends aren’t around.”

Nick goes really, really quiet. 

This was possibly a terrible idea, Harry realizes. His hand’s shaking a bit. “Well,” he says. “Happy new year, then. I will see you when you get back.”

“Harry--” Nick interrupts, but Harry hangs up before he can finish, heart pounding. 

*

He goes back to his London house after a while, and spends some time in it for the first time in ages. He always goes to Nick’s these days, but he has a feeling he’s not going to be particularly welcome there so often (or, at least, not in his bed) after this. 

He airs it out, though, and buys some more furniture, things that don’t match at all but make him happy. He takes pictures of everything as he buys it and sends it to Gemma, who always responds kindly. He loves her quite a bit. 

Nick doesn’t text him. He keeps posting everywhere, but he doesn’t text him. 

*

It’s been about a week since Harry’s ill-fated attempt at a love confession, and he’s sitting on his new couch, watching telly. He hasn’t seen this show, and he’s a bit baffled but intrigued. It’s how he spends most of his life. 

There’s a knock at his door and he frowns, pausing the TV and getting up, padding over to it. “Yeah?” he asks as he opens the door.

Nick’s standing on his porch, looking at him, suitcase in hand. 

Harry’s mouth works. 

“So,” Nick says, pushing his way inside and dropping his suitcase on the ground. “You’re a dick.”

Harry doesn’t know where to look. Nick’s all tan, wearing a see-through shirt that’s mostly undone anyway. He can’t look away. “Um,” he says. 

Nick rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “You can’t call a man who’s hungover and hours away from you and tell them you want to kiss them and then just _hang up_ ,” he says, shaking his head. “Not fair.”

Harry frowns, finally looking up at him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was pretty hungover as well?” He doesn’t mean it to come out a question, but Nick makes him question lots of things. (The thought makes him laugh, almost.) 

“Of course you were,” he says, sighing. He takes Harry’s hand, rubbing his thumb across the back. 

Harry goes quiet, doesn’t know what to say. 

“When you said that,” he says very softly, “did you mean you wanted to kiss me in a platonic way or a romantic one?”

“Romantic,” Harry says, just as soft. 

Nick grins, and kisses him. 

Harry melts into it, barely getting the door shut before he’s tangling his fingers in Nick’s hair and pulling him close, kissing him hard. 

Nick hums, resting his hands on the small of Harry’s back. “I’ve just got off a flight,” he says, laughing as Harry kisses his neck. “I’m due for a nap.”

Harry groans. “Why’d you come _here_ , then?” he asks. 

Nick shrugs. “Was hoping I could sleep with you.”

Harry can feel himself going red. “Well, all right, then,” he says, kissing him, soft. He pauses. “Sleep with me in a platonic way, or--”

Nick rolls his eyes. “You’re impossible!” He tugs Harry down the hall, into his room, and pulls off his shirt. “I quite fancy you, I’d like to date you, but first I want to take the most romantic nap _ever_ together, and after I’ll get you off,” he says, raising an eyebrow at Harry. “That all right with you?”

Harry nods, and all but tackles him onto the bed, kissing him and running his hands down his chest. Just a little bit, before they sleep. He can be good. “Yeah,” he says, giggly and delighted. He flops onto his side, staring at him. “Sounds pretty great.”

“ _Good_ ,” Nick says, but Harry can hear the relief evident in his voice. He kisses Harry’s forehead. 

Harry rolls onto his side and Nick wraps himself around him, resting a hand on Harry’s stomach. 

“Heard you like being the little spoon,” Nick mumbles around a yawn. 

Harry laughs as quietly as he can, kissing Nick’s arm. “Yep.” 

“Now shh,” Nick murmurs against his hair. “Nick’s sleeping.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but obediently shuts up, settling back against him and smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr at guillotineheart and twitter at doinwhatwedo :)


End file.
